One afternoon, I left to fetch water at the stream, my earthenware pot balanced atop my head. Halfway into the bosky woods, I came to a halt: Two males lay spread-eagled on the side of the lonely path. One man glared up at me; the other man’s eyes were at half-mast, his fat, calloused hand still clutching a rope attached to cackling hens. It took me a moment to understand what I was witnessing—my first time seeing a dead person. Two. “Ugh, um,” I sputtered and bolted—frantic, my water pot crashing to the ground, my breath failing me.
May Akabogu is a retired college instructor currently working on a memoir.